


Just Soldiers

by starforged



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Inquisition spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 23:12:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2750645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starforged/pseuds/starforged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their timing has never been more appropriate, and yet still so far from correct. Inquisition Spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Soldiers

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt at the DA Kink Meme:
> 
> Always in the past timing was against them. First he was in a position of power over her, and too flustered to do anything with her at any rate. Then he was terrified of her. And then he ended up in a city where it would have been unwise for her to show her face even if she’d found out where he was and wanted to try to make peace with him.
> 
> But when The Warden one day makes her way to Skyhold they face each other at last on an equal footing, time has healed his mental scars enough that the thought of romancing a mage no longer makes him completely recoil, and maybe at long last the time can be right for them.

It’s insanely easy for her to slip into Skyhold with another group joining the Inquisition, and she can’t help the smile that pulls at her face. She’s famous throughout Thedas, sure, but nobody quite remembers what the Hero of Ferelden looks like. And that’s assuming they had met her in person.

Still, she keeps her hood up as she enters the crowded courtyard, in case a few of the Wardens are still lingering. The world may not know her face, but they would. 

Leliana would know. Morrigan would know. 

So, Amell keeps her hood up as she walks around this fortress. It’s… beyond words to her, beyond anything she thought possible. Using the treaties in Ferelden during the Blight, that had been a _miracle_ to see all the races working for one cause. But this? This is like something out of a story she’d read back in the Circle. 

She could spend hours here, days, weeks, searching and filling her curiosity up, but that’s not why she’s here. And she doesn’t have the time for it, either. There is something else she has to fight for, even if the threat of Corypheus pricks at her skin like a bad rash. 

When Leliana had written to her, she had mentioned a certain former templar, and while Amell had tried to ignore it, she couldn’t.

Here she was, in the last place on Thedas she should have been found in, chatting up a few soldiers about the location of Ser Cullen’s office, because a girlhood crush still had some strange way of making her pulse pick up.

It’s to check up on him, she tells herself. To make sure he’s safe. To make sure that he isn’t in danger anymore.

But it’s really because she is selfish, and she has had ten long years to come to terms with that part of her.

She waits outside of the door the guard leads her to for a few moments, until the man has finally shuffled his way further down the wall, and then she knocks. Her knuckles wrap lightly against the wood, once, twice, three times until he shouts out, “Yes, come in!”

His voice is taut. Irritation, maybe? Stress from the job?

Amell opens the door and steps inside. 

Cullen sits behind a desk, a scattering of papers in front of her, but his attention is on the clearly unwelcomed visitor. It’s not too late to back out, she supposes, before he can see under the hood and identify her.

Now, that’s a silly thought, she chides herself. It’s been ten years, and the last time they saw each other, well…

It didn’t end very nicely, did it? He has probably done all that he can to push Uldred and the demons from his mind.

His eyes sweep over her before landing on the staff at her back, and while there’s a guarded expression there, hate does not enter his hazel eyes. It makes her relax somewhat.

“May I help you?”

A final hesitation, and Amell pushes the hood from her short, dark hair. It takes him a second and no more before the realization of who is standing before him hits him. And it hits him hard, apparently, as he stands up so fast, his chair flies into the wall behind him and he nearly trips over himself.

“Solona!” He coughs. “I mean, Hero! Warden-Commander?”

Amell laughs, caught unprepared for his own reaction, the sound filling the room. A light blush takes over his cheeks before he drags a hand down his face. “Sometimes I forget that I even have a real name, these days.”

“You can’t be real.”

Pain stabs at her chest, and she’s brought back to the tower, to him on his knees in terror, wrapped in desire. Not again, not after a decade.

“I assure you, I’m quite real. I think? I’ve heard so many stories about me already, I might just be nothing more than a legend.” She brings her hands up, cupping her face and pinching her cheeks. “Nope, very real. No Fade, either, so we’re good.”

His hand drops as he stares at her, keeping the desk between them. “I’ve… been having hallucinations lately.”

“About me?” she asks with a bit of bemusement.

A wry smile twists his lips. “I wouldn’t put it past the withdrawals if they were about you.”

“With--” Now it’s her turn to be surprised, eyes widened and lips parting a bit. “Now that’s not something I figured I would hear.”

They stand awkwardly, collapsing into a painful sort of silence that makes her regret even coming here. To what end? For what purpose? She can’t stay, unless she wants to be caught up in this war. She is the Hero, yes, but there are already Wardens just as capable as she.

Cullen clears his throat, and she looks him over this time. He’s trimmed out since the Circle, his lingering baby fat molded into sharp edges. The dark circles she had last seen under his eyes, well they’re still there but for different reasons, she can gather. There’s a scar on his lip she’s sure she’s never seen before, and his skin has a pallor of sickliness.

He’s even more handsome than she remembers. Ten years is a long time to hold an image of anyone.

“Please, sit.” He indicates a chair before moving to pick his own back up. “I’m sure you’ve come a long way and - why are you here? To join the Inquisition? I’m sure - there are others you could have gone to, Solona.”

“Ah, there it is again. My _name_.” Amell takes the only chair left in the room, taking comfort in getting off her feet, even if it is in a rickety wooden death trap.

“Sorry, forgive me.”

“No, it’s fine,” she laughs. “I like hearing it.” She runs a hand through her hair. “I’m not coming to join the Inquisition.”

He doesn’t answer her immediately, instead following the path of her hand before drifting over her. He’s soaking her in, and she lets him. This time, they are not mage and templar. This time, they are not torn apart by fear or hatred or uncertainty.

Now they are just two soldiers who have seen too much.

“Your hair’s a lot shorter than it used to be.”

“It’s easier to keep it short when you don’t have a lot of time to bathe or brush it,” she says, her fingers twitching with the need to touch the choppy strands.

“It suits you,” he says awkwardly, and she smiles. “If you’re not here to join us, then why _are_ you here?”

She looks up at the stone ceiling for a moment before glancing back down at him. “To see you.”

It’s a weird thing to say, isn’t it? In all these years, Amell hasn’t quite perfected subtlety. Or lying. So he asks, and she tells him, and another silence falls over them again. 

“Well, and this place, too. It’s the talk of Thedas,” she continues on. “You know something is important when it reaches even the remote parts of the world.”

Cullen folds his hands on his desk, clasping them together. “I had heard that you were doing something important. I am just trying to understand - You would take the time to come here to see me?”

He sounds strained as he says it, and while he looks confused, she can see a glimmer of hope in his eyes. It makes the tightness in her chest ease up somewhat, breathing a sigh of relief through her nose. 

“I wanted to keep in contact with you. I came back to the Circle, once. Not that it made Greagoir happy at all, but I - I wanted to make sure you were okay, Cullen,” she begins to explain, twisting her fingers around each other. 

She is a woman in her thirties, a woman who has beaten an archdemon and spoke with the Architect and yes, has had sex. But it’s talking to this man in front of her that makes her a nervous wreck? How incredible.

“It must have been after I left,” he murmurs, and she nods.

“When I found out that you were in Kirkwall, I had to stay away.”

“For your own safety?”

A smile curls at her lips. “Because I’m a Warden-Commander, and we can’t be seen taken sides in any political issue. Had I come to Kirkwall and seen the next mess you found yourself in, I would have felt compelled to save your ass.”

Cullen leans back in his seat then and laughs softly. “After those things I said to you, you would have done such a thing?”

The smile slides off her face like melting butter. She can see that he regrets it immediately, because he continues.

“I have wanted to apologize to you for a long time, Solona. Those things I said - they weren’t me.”

“They _were_ you,” she whispers. Moving to the edge of her seat, she leans forward and takes one of his hands in hers. They’re bigger than she had imagined. Rougher, too. “I wouldn’t wish the things you went through on my greatest enemy, Cullen. They were you, but I forgave you a long time ago. I know the nature of demons.” With her free hand, she taps her temple. “It comes with the territory.”

His fingers wrap around hers so tightly, the bones rub together, but she doesn’t make a sound. It’s a move made of a desperate sort of comfort, and even though he looks better, she wonders if he’s truly healed at all. His grip relaxes then, thumb brushing along the palm of her hand. It sends shivers down her spine that she does her best to ignore. 

She’s here to make sure an old friend is okay, not for anything else. Not that there could be anything else. 

“You are a strong woman,” he tells her. “I’ve wanted to tell you that. Strong and brave and compassionate, they are your strengths. I was wrong, what I said to you.”

“You’re still going to apologize even after I’ve already said I forgave you?”

“Consider it a favor to let me continue,” he chuckles.

“How many indiscretions do you really need to apologize for? I could get a priest, if you’d like. There seem to be--”

He’s up and out of his seat before she can even really process it, so when his mouth finds hers, hot and needy, she’s more than unprepared for it. Somehow, he has maintained the grip on her hand, his free one sliding along her cheek until he’s cupping the back of her head. 

“For that,” he breathes against her mouth when he breaks the kiss. 

“Oh, yes. Well - I’m not sure if I can forgive that. You didn’t even ask for my permission.”

“Forgive me, S--”

Her fingers tangle in his shirt as she drags him back to her again, breathing him in as she kisses him hard. She has spent a _very_ long time thinking of this moment. Of the way he would taste - minty, she decides, as if he was sucking on a candy earlier. Of the way he would smell this close - like wood and parchment and ink. Of the way he would kiss her - awkwardly, it would seem, given that she’s still sitting and he’s bent over, given that she’s rough and he’s soft.

“Now who is taking liberties?” he laughs, and she smiles up at him.

“Couldn’t resist. There was a handsome man just begging to be kissed.” Her hands come up to cup his face as she watches him. “Just so that we’re both clear, I won’t be any less of a mage the more you kiss me.”

“I was well aware of that fact when I decided to do so,” Cullen tells her softly, and there are a million things in those words that are unsaid but so brightly illustrated. 

Whatever has happened to him, he has taken that pain and frustration and _fear_ , and he’s transformed it into something greater than himself. He is a good man, but Amell’s always known that. Not all good men have easy paths to take, either. Or good women, it would seem. Her thumbs stroke over his cheekbones as she continues to hold his face. His hands move to her own, his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth as she smiles. 

“You are much more than a mage to me, Solona,” he whispers into the small space between them. “You were then, but you were my charge. There was a barrier between us for a reason, and when that was exploited by the demons, I was disgusted with myself - not you.”

She stands then, almost laughing at the fact that it doesn’t do much. She is much shorter than him, after all. Letting go of him, she takes a step back, smiling in the face of his confused look. Reaching behind her, she undoes the buckles of her staff strapped to her back and leans it against his desk.

“You’re still trying to apologize here for things that you don’t need to anymore.”

“I wasn’t a good man after that day.”

Amell nods as she steps back into him again, taking both of his hands in hers. “You made horrible, _awful_ mistakes. So have I. But you seem to be doing what you can to make up for them, and I think that’s what is important, Cullen.”

He lets go of one of her hands, letting his arm wrap around her waist until she’s pulled closer to him. This is almost a dream, she thinks. Like she’s stepped into the Fade or been knocked out. 

“You really came here to check up on me?”

“It’s a little strange, isn’t it?” She wraps an arm around his neck. 

“Quite strange,” Cullen replies, brushing a kiss along her cheek, her forehead, the tip of her nose. “I haven’t yet decided you’re not a hallucination.”

“I’m not sure if it’s any less strange to hallucinate kissing a girl you knew ten years ago,” Amell teases before stealing a quick kiss from him. “We are both very strange, it would seem.”

He holds her close, and that wary look of his crosses his face again. He’s warm, and she finds herself pressing against him further, soaking in the warmth radiating from him. 

“You came for me,” she hears him whisper into her hair, and she smiles. 

“I can’t stay for long, but… I mean we can spend the whole night catching up, or go get a drink, or-- Oh.”

He walks her back into the desk until the wood digs sharply into her backside. “How long?”

“The night. I don’t trust that Leliana won’t find me out immediately if I stay longer,” she tells him.

“Then getting a drink would be pointless, and I would lose my time with you. Correct?”

She nods mutely, watching the serious gleam in his eyes, the way his pupils seem to blow out wide when he looks back at her. It’s enough to make her breath catch. 

“Will you return?”

“I…” Her shoulders lift in a helpless shrug. “I am searching for a way to cure us all of the Calling. Truth be told, I was passing near here, and that’s why I knew I had to stop. It was a sign, wasn’t it? If the world is to end, then it was a sign that my own quest brought me here.”

“That the Maker would have a hand in this--”

She kisses him again, cutting off his words. Her hands scramble at him, pulling him closer until he’s standing between her parted thighs. She kisses him like he’s the last thing in this world, and the way his fingers dig so sharply into her hips, the way he steals her breath with each searing movement of his mouth over hers, she knows he’s doing the same. They are in an uncertain world, surely to end if the Inquisitor fails. Her fingers slide into the curly mass of his blond hair, twisting themselves around the strands until she’s anchored him to her.

He lifts her onto the edge of the desk, and she still wonders if this isn’t a dream, the last desperate attempt to keep a shred of what could be tucked into her heart. 

His hands slide over her waist and back up her sides again, barely brushing over her breasts in these layers. Ah, too many clothes between and maybe not enough to stop the path they seemed to be rolling down. 

“Wait…” She pants as she pulls back, nipping gently at his bottom lip. 

He groans, swallowing her words with another kiss. Her legs hook behind his, and she lets herself be swept away a moment longer. 

“We don’t have to,” she tries again, as he brushes his mouth in a trail along her jawline to her ear. “I’ll b-be - Oh, Maker, that’s good.”

His teeth scrape over her earlobe, and she tilts her head for him, a sigh bubbling from her lips. “If you are going to leave, Solona, then of course I want this.” The words are whispered in her ear, and she closes her eyes for a moment to soak them in.

If the Maker had led her here, was it because it would be the last chance to have what they couldn’t before? Could they make up for the time that had been stolen from them?

He buries his face into her neck, the scruff of his facial hair tickling her skin. “You know what was perhaps the worst part after Uldred?”

She stiffens, her hands resting gently on his back. “What?”

“I had been given a glimpse of what we could have been, and I still forced you away. I never stopped thinking about that.”

He kisses her neck, her throat, any expanse of skin bare to him, and she shivers. 

“I’m glad we could come to an agreement that you better start stripping before I use my magic on you,” she says in a thick voice. 

Cullen pulls back, stares at her, and just like that his fingers are working frantically at his buttons. She leans back to watch, only for a moment, as his clothes come off one by one, her gaze scraping over his bare chest, broad shoulders, the strip of hair sliding down his abdomen. She takes note of the scars that cross his body, and she wants more than one night. She wants enough nights to get a story for each one of those scars. It’s that last thought that has her sliding off of the desk, reaching for her shirt and ripping it off. 

She’s almost got the breast band off before a knock at his door echoes through the room, and the door opens to reveal a young soldier. 

“Excuse me, Commander, just some - some, uh… important…” The soldier stares at her as she stares back, stock still with her hands at her chest.

Cullen is just as frozen, his pants still thankfully on. Her face heats up, and she is sure Cullen and the soldier are fighting for who can flush the deepest purple.

“I can come back?” the soldiers poses what should have been a statement as confusion as he continues to let his gaze slide back to Amell. With a growl, Cullen steps in front of her and throws his boot at the door with enough force to slam it shut.

“Well, perhaps less than a night in that case,” Amell laughs once the flash of embarrassment has had a chance to settle. There’s still a warmth on her cheeks, but now that’s from the sight of Cullen himself. 

She presses a kiss to his shoulderblade, her arms wrapping around him, fingers dancing over the muscles of his torso. They jump under her touch, and his breath quickens. 

“We had better hurry then,” he growls, turning in her arms. 

Amell laughs. “Wait, you had best lock the doors if we want to remain uninterrupted.” She knows, though, that if Leliana gets wind of this, no locked door will stop her - but perhaps giving her friend a chance at finishing up will be enough to stay her hand.

With more impatience than she has ever seen the man exhibit, he moves away from her, his pants barely slung around his hips. She enjoys the view as he makes sure to lock his office up tight. By the time he turns back to her again, her breast band is on the floor with the rest of their clothes.

His breath grows shallow, and the way his gaze rakes over her nearly nude body sends coils of heat through her, settling in her belly and lower still. They stand a couple of feet apart, and she gives him the same once-over he’s giving her. 

“You’re beautiful,” he tells her in soft voice, thick with desire. It sends a wave of warmth over her, a sort of pleased feeling at the idea that he _wants_ her. 

“Who knew what that armor was hiding,” she breathes in response. 

They step into each other at almost the exact same moment, causing another laugh to bubble from her. He echoes the sound, letting his hands roam her body - the sharp lines of her hips, the soft pudge of her belly - until they cup her bare breasts, testing their weight in his hands. Her hands are at his hips, and she doesn’t need to glance down to see the bulge in them. She needs even less incentive to tug them - and his underwear - off, freeing him. Absentmindedly, she licks her lips, and he groans. 

“Maker,” he says, and she glances back up at him with a grin. “You deserve better than a romp on the floor.”

She leans in, presses a kiss to his chest. “Oh, I’ve had sex is far worse places. At least it’s warm in here.”

His thumbs brush over her nipples, and she gives a light gasp before biting along his collarbone. His hands slide around to her back, down to cup her ass before his fingers tangle into her hair, tugging her head back gently. “I must admit that hearing that causes a bit of jealousy.”

She takes that moment to wrap her own fingers around his cock, feeling it twitch in her hand. He groans. “Let me take care of that for you.”

Cullen’s mouth is hot against hers, with barely any finesse, but she finds that she doesn’t care. There isn’t technique to it, but there’s passion and need and the heavy realization that this could be the only time. He grabs her wrist and gently pulls her hand off of him as he lowers them to the floor.

She feels him pressed against her thigh as he settles between her legs, her knees braced against his own hips. His mouth explores her skin, tongue trailing along a length of scars on her breastbone (a gift from her fight with the Mother). She arches into him, the feel of her skin against his almost too much to bear, and when his lips form over her breast, his tongue cool against her taut nipple, she cries out at the skittering of heat through her nerves that pools to her core. Her hands roam over his back, nails digging lightly into the expanse there, eliciting small hisses from him each time she goes too deep. 

And then he’s moving lower, the weight of his body shifting off of her, and she misses it instantly even as he leaves wet kisses over her stomach, her hips, her inner thighs, all in a confusing trail. 

“Andraste’s tits, Cullen,” Amell moans, her hips rolling toward him. A heat pulses in her core, and she doesn’t have to touch herself to know how wet she is.

“Have nothing on yours, I’m afraid,” he whispers into the apex of her thighs, his gaze flicker up to hers. His honey eyes are as dark as gold, and her chest heaves with her pants. 

“Oh, are you quite intimate wi-with--” Her words break off to a moan as his tongue licks a stripe up her slit. Her hips jerks, and his hands are on them in an instant, pushing them down, holding them in place as his mouth begins to explore her. “Cul _len_.”

His tongue circles her clit, dragging a whimper out of her. Her head falls back, her fingers tangled in his hair now to keep _him_ in place. Who would have thought such an awkward templar would know how to use his tongue in such a way? He sucks on her clit, and she’s sure she’s just found the way to the Maker’s bosom when he leaves her before she’s even close enough to make sure, a cry of need on her lips. 

He slides over her, slipping back between her thighs and keeping her legs open so that she can’t even find the proper friction to get herself off. 

“Cruelty,” she pants. 

“You can always lodge a complaint with the Inquisition. We would be happy to look into it,” he tells her with a laugh.

When he kisses her, she can taste herself on his lips, and that in itself almost makes her come undone. Instead, she shifts her body beneath of him, using the leverage of her legs to pull him closer until she can feel the head of his cock against her slit. Her head rolls back as she rolls her hips against him, and the moan he cries into her mouth is worth the fact that he left the job _undone_.

“I’d be happier if you would _personally_ take a look,” she mutters as her hands grab his hips and pull him to her.

“Impatient?”

“I’ll beg, if that’s what you’re looking for,” Amell pants in his ear, leaving wet kisses on his jaw, his neck, her fingers digging hard into his hips as she rolls hers again. “Please, Cullen. _Please_ \--”

She can’t even finish before he’s shifting between them, angling himself so that when he rolls his hips, he thrusts into her. The sound she makes in the back of her throat is part-laugh and part-growl. He waits, panting against her, one hand next to her head to prop himself up. 

“And I am in the impatient one,” she tells him between a biting kiss.

“The begging - ah - it might have been too much,” he pants.

She rolls her hips, gently, and he takes that as a sign that he can move. His thrusts are slow at first, soft, as he allows her more time to adjust to his body, to his cock inside of her, but she really just thinks it’s to tease her, to cause those skittering of electric sparks to short circuit in her mind as he moves with her. 

“Maker,” he says as he drops his face into the crook of her shoulder. “You feel good.”

Her tongue is painting swirls on the shoulder she can reach. She whimpers, one leg wrapping around his waist to pull him closer, further inside of her. Next to her, his arm shakes with the effort of keeping himself aloft, and she can’t help but smile. 

“Harder,” she manages to moan, and she’s sure that the one word is like the breaking of a dam as his thrusts remain at the same pace but go deeper. She clenches around him, back arching again. He’s driving her wild, making her desperate, and she’s wondered just how many fantasies of this he has had before. 

Reaching between them, her fingers find her clit, slick with her desire and his saliva, and she moans as she touches herself. He mutters a curse - actually, more than one - and his hips jerk off the easy rhythm he had found. His pace goes erratic, and she isn’t sure which was better - the slow tease or the fact that her rubbing herself has him going as crazy as he was making her. 

“Let me,” he tells her, moving her hand aside as his large, calloused fingers take over for her, and he’s faster, insistent, and she has no problems with the intent way he clearly wants to make her come. 

Her mind is a haze of pleasure and his beautiful face, and the way his hips thrust against her, and when her breath hitches and her walls tighten around him, she knows she’s close. “Please, nn, almost…”

Her nails dig hard into him, and without meaning to her, her magic surges against his skin, into his nerves. He jerks, but doesn’t stop his frenzied movements, moaning her name. 

And she screams his as the orgasm hits her hard, her hips jerking wildly against his as she clings to him, need to ride this out with him _so badly_. She just barely notices a moment later when he comes undone, still riding her own high. 

He just barely collapses on top of her, moving his hand out from between them and resting it on her hip, his thumb brushing over sensitive skin.

They breathe loudly together for a few minutes, before she finally finds the extra air to speak. Her voice is low, rough, and she can hear the rumble appreciation coming from her. “Much better than my fantasies.”

“Mine as well.”

Her arms come to wrap around him, fingers stroking his hair lightly. “About the magic--”

“It was surprising,” he says guardedly. “But not entirely unwelcome.”

The ghost of a smile splays over her lips. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

They’re quiet again, enjoying the feel of their bodies, of each other, and before she knows it, she is dozing lightly. 

\--

They are holding each other a few hours later, her face buried in his chest this time. 

“Are you sure you cannot stay?” he whispers into her messy hair.

“I’ll be back when I can.” She moves out of his embrace, cups his face, and kisses him. It’s a promise, she tells herself, and she hopes he can feel that in it. “I have reason to, now.”

“I suppose I had better help to make sure there is something to come back to.”

“That would be good,” she agrees with a soft laugh.

One last kiss, and then she takes her staff and slips quietly out into the night. Amell doesn’t look back, knowing that her resolve might crumble with one last look at him.

At the gates, a hooded figure waits for her.

Leliana’s voice is as soft as it ever is. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

She reaches out to grab her friend’s hand and squeezes lightly. “I found an even better reason to continue on with my research.”

“I do wish you would stay, Solona.”

Now, Amell does allow herself to glance back in the direction of the commander’s office, a warmth spreading through her. “We’re soldiers, Leliana. We understand what it means to not have each other.”

A beat, and then the Spymaster nods. “I am glad you have found that happiness you were searching for then, my friend.”

They hug before Amell leaves.

_Me too_ , she thinks.


End file.
